


That old evil spirit

by faxingberlin (wherehaveallthecowboysgone)



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Breaking the Bed, F/M, killgrave is only v briefly mentioned tbh, no alcohol is consumed but it gets thought about a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherehaveallthecowboysgone/pseuds/faxingberlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after Killgrave has its own trials; trying to have sex sober is amongst them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That old evil spirit

“You sure bout this?”

Jessica scowled. It was bad enough that she’d spent however long thinking over her doubts. Hearing someone voice them, even gently, was not helpful. Backing out now would make her feel like an asswipe. A coward. Spineless.

Sometimes having the freedom to choose was kinda shit. She did want to do this, she was damn sure, but somehow taking that step into it made her break out into a cold sweat.

“Hey, I’m just asking.” Jessica didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she directed the considerable force of her most aggressive glare at the glass in her hand.

An empty glass. Not something she saw often—at least, not for long, before it was drowned in a flood of the good stuff. How long since she’d had a drink? Her body was humming with the tension. For fuck’s sake, it was only last night, and here she was about to bounce off the goddamn walls. Maybe sobriety just wasn’t for her. And by sobriety, she meant going without a drink for longer than like a couple of hours.

Luke’s hand closed over hers and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She knew he’d noticed. He was gearing up to say something nice and shitty and boring and she’d been working herself up to this for ages so _no way_ —

“Look, I’m right here with you.” The low rumble of his voice rolled through her body, smoothing out a bit of the tenseness in all the places she pretended not to notice. “We can take it slow.” He laughed and leaned in real close to her neck. “Got all night.” A shudder of the most delightful kind went through her at his breath curling over the shell of her ear. His hands settled on the bowstrings of her shoulders. With considerable delicacy, those talented fingers and thumbs found the worst of the knots.

“God, you’re good at that.” She could practically feel the warmth of his smile through her back.

“Good thing too. You are, by far, the most goddamn tense person I ever met.” Jessica leaned back into his touch.

“You think?”

“Swear. Promise. Whatever you like.”

Her eyes settled on the empty glass again. She sighed.“This was a stupid fucking decision.”

"Yeah. Guess that’s why we’ve been discussing it for the past… months.” She slapped one of his hands. Not too hard. Not that it would matter if she did slug him. He could take the hit. But this was more a roll of the eyes than _fuck_ off. She wanted him to know it. A lot went unsaid in their relationship. After all this time, she still wasn’t great at talking or whatever shit you were supposed to do as a healthy member of society. Trish had been after her for years to go to a therapist but Jessica couldn’t see the fucking point. What had happened was shit, everyone knew that, they just had to move the fuck on and chatting about her delicate feelings—which she still tried to pretend didn’t really exist most of the time—wasn’t gonna do anyone any good. End of story.

“Jessica. I’m serious. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

“Yeah, it does, alright?” she snapped, patience totally drained by the jitters.

She stood up fast enough to send the chair skidding away from both of them and crashing into the wall, and launched herself at him. The empty glass loomed behind her, the unopened bottle beside it. It was a reminder that she could stop at any time, grab the whiskey and drown any fears in a tide of alcohol. The last time she’d had sex sober was so long ago that she couldn’t remember exactly when it had been. Deep down, that made her feel like shit. Was it pathetic that she couldn’t fuck or let herself get fucked without staring through the bottom of a shot glass? (Or, more often, the whole bottle…) _Yes_ , she’d been whispering back all this time. _No_ , Luke had said. Firm. _But maybe it doesn’t have to be like that_.

When he laughed it sent shivers down her spine in the most delicious way. “Alright, girl, alright,” he murmured over her lips, the ghosts of his words brushing against her. “C’mere. You just say when—if—you want—” She slipped her hand down over his body appreciatively, scraping her nails as she went, and he shuddered. “—to stop—” She ground the palm of her hand over his jeans. “Fuck,” he breathed, all thought out the window. She grinned up at him and leaned her head into his neck. Up against his cock, she set an insistent rhythm, listening to his inhales and exhales speed up at the pace she set for him. Right in the hollow of his collarbones, she nipped at his skin. No chance of breaking the skin, but damn if it didn’t feel good to literally sink her teeth into him. He was sweaty, but that was okay—she liked the salt of it in her mouth.

It didn’t have the same lazy easiness to it as when she was drunk. She felt maybe kinda awkward. Not so sure that she was doing the right thing. The way he was gasping seemed good, but she was second-guessing herself like hell. “You like that?” she demanded. It sounded stupid to her, whiny instead of tough and sexy. She curled her fingers around the crotch of his jeans and dragged her fingers languorously up until he was practically holding his breath.

“You’re overthinking it in there, right?” he said, bending his head, tipping her head up so that he could kiss her long and firm. Reaching for her hands, he yanked her closer, rolling his hips to grind against her. Jessica gasped, the end of the exhale elongating into a long, heartfelt groan. The empty glass was still reaching for her. If she hadn’t been locked against Luke, she might have turned to look at it. As it was, Luke’s tongue eased into her mouth, stealing away her doubts. Weirdly enough, without the fumbling and stumbling that usually came with being pissed out her fucking mind, they felt clumsier together. Maybe the drink blurred the hesitancy, the lurch of the moments in between the bits that made her feel like her cunt was gonna burn through her fucking jeans.

When he drew away from her, she felt it keenly as rejection. She was ready to stalk across the room, down the fucking bottle and throw herself back into the fray and all the build-up would have been wasted because she was an absolutely useless asshole but whatever, she was getting laid. Basically a second later, she noticed that he was pulling his shirt over his head with reckless abandon and felt like a double moron for not realising that he was just getting ready for the next round. Hiding her burning face in throwing her jacket over her shoulder seemed like a solid decision. Without meaning to, she threw it right at the whiskey. It took both hurtling down to the floor, where the top of the bottle smashed and sent booze leaking everywhere.

“Ah, fuck,” she said, turning to go—do something, she guessed—like maybe rescue them and flee the fucking room—

Luke’s hands settled on her waist and she stilled. Part of her nervousness melted into pure liquid want, knowing all the fantastic things they could be doing to her. She relaxed into his hold, finding it kinda unsettling just how much he could affect her. “You’re doing good,” he said, running his tongue along the rim of her ear. “In fact…” he murmured, giving her a savage nip. She jerked like lightning had struck her full on and reached back to grind against his cock, still caged in those jeans. “I’d say…” He lowered his head and sucked on the side of her neck hard enough to leave a hickey. “You’re doing goddamn fantastic.”

She dug her fingernails into his bare arms, writhing against him to hear him pant against her. “Lemme help you with that,” he said, yanking her shirt up so hard he tore part of it. “Shit. My bad.”

The rest of it was easily shimmied over her head and tossed into a corner. “Forget it,” she told him, reaching for her jeans. “Like it fucking matters.” His answering grin was delicious, and he began undoing his own belt buckle and peeling trousers from his legs. It was at least easier to get rid of clothes when sober, jacket accident aside. The belt wasn’t presenting the same level of difficulty it usually did. Usually she’d swear to the ground that belts snaked away on purpose when she was drunk. Her bra went the same way, tossed in some unconscious direction.

Of all the fucking absurd things, she felt self-conscious. Luke had seen her tits plenty of times, he wasn’t gonna turn around at this point and go “eh”. He liked them just fine. Or, at least, he’d never complained…

Jessica shook her head, closing her eyes. This was why being drunk was so much easier. She never worried about this shit when the alcohol was telling her that she was the sexiest bitch alive. In the running for sexiest bitch alive at the very least. Top 3. Maybe top 5 at a stretch.

When she opened her eyes, perhaps seconds later, Luke was guiding her hands down to the pants she was still wearing. He kept his gaze on her as she hooked her fingers behind the elastic and began to pull. The heat spreading from his fingers on her skin felt like it was going straight to her cunt.

While she’d been having a quiet crisis of self-confidence, he’d gone all in. He was already naked. “Still up for this?” he asked. His voice was undeniably rougher. He wanted her; she wanted him. Why did this have to be so goddamn difficult? _Don’t think about that, you idiot, definitely don’t think about that—just think about Luke, how good this is gonna be, it’s gonna be fine you asshole, get on with it—_

“Of course.” Tired of giving herself time to overthink it, she forwent niceties and just ripped the pants apart to remove them.

Luke raised his eyebrows as the two pieces of fabric fell to the floor. “Got it.”

Jessica shoved him. His legs went out from underneath him as he hit the bed, and he fell backwards. The bedposts shrieked a complaint as they skidded back at least half a metre. Seeing him spread-eagled like that, looking up at her, was a pretty effective aphrodisiac. “If we’re gonna break another bed, we’re going halves on the price, alright—” he began, cut off abruptly as she leapt to join him.

One post gave up altogether, pitching them down onto the cold floor. She didn’t give him time to tell her off, pulling both hands above his head and kissing a trail down his trembling chest. Biting, kissing, licking at random got the best results; he bucked like a horse. Laughing grimly, she shook her head and pinned his hands down more firmly. One leg swung over his hips and he was pinned completely. They both knew that if he truly wanted to fight it would be harder going. Too much rough and tumble wasn’t the goal. Just enough for a touch of spice since he was unbreakable and she had the raw power of a bulldozer.

There wasn’t much to her fingernails, but she used them to good effect over the taut skin by his hips. He shuddered again. “ _God_ , Jessica.” For a moment, she stilled, unsure what that meant. Was it pleasure? Impatience? Telling her to get on with it? Her grip on his arms loosened.

Luke propped himself up onto his elbows. “Still—?” he began, clearly questioning.

She pushed him back down. “Do you wanna get right to the good stuff?” she demanded. It was too much to hope that he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice. He knew her too well. But he was kind—hopefully he’d respond to the bravado instead, regardless of how false it was.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “This right now is feeling pretty sweet. You’re doing good.”

“I’m not some baby who needs reassuring every ten seconds,” she snapped, before she could stop herself. By now, he’d got used to her. Didn’t reach out to pat her or try to soothe her. She hated that shit. Instead, he grinned at her.

“I know you’re no baby, just like I’m no cradle robber. I’m just saying. Nothing wrong with foreplay. Wanna carry on?” Jessica did her best to achieve a nod that could only be described as violent.

He leaned up, pulling her properly down to closely straddling him, cock pressing up against the curve of her ass. Jessica sucked her breath in at the feel of his body below her, involuntarily throwing her head back. His hands guided her back in, rubbing her ever more sensitive cunt against him. When she met his gaze, wishing that she could show him even half the heat she was feeling, he tilted his head and took one breast into his mouth.

She hissed—never pretty noises from her, always the fucking weird ones, why hadn’t she noticed that before—when he bit down on her nipple. Once, twice—pulling away from her to make the sting go deeper—and one hand found her other breast, pinching and twisting. She sucked in her breath and let her hips do just as they wanted to naturally; grinding against him hard, feeling his erection right up against the back of her. Luke was a little _shit_ , never staying at one pressure for long; she couldn’t decide if she liked the sharp pain of the bite or the wider pressure of the pinch better. God, though, fucking hell, she could practically feel herself getting wetter against him.

Thoughts flew away for a blissful time as he bit down particularly hard and she practically crushed him between her thighs. Her own hands, free, went straight down to find her clit. There were some advantages to sober sex. Things didn’t seem to move around as much. The room didn’t lurch in the same way.

She found her favourite rhythm right away. Not too direct, or sometimes she numbed out and got too sensitive; she exploited everything around her clit, from ghosting over one side to the other to full on rubbing hard enough it seemed there should be sparks flying.

The hand that Luke was currently using to drive her into a frenzy was removed, and she snarled a complaint, refusing to lose the climax that was building by redoubling her efforts, rolling her hips faster and faster. She felt rather than heard his muffled laugh. A moment later he began to alternate biting and turning over her nipple with his tongue, the rasping warm wetness of it making delicious contrast. His erstwhile hand slipped down past her; she felt the greater pull for a moment as he shifted slightly to take his cock in hand.

Against her ass she could feel him making a start on his own orgasm. How he was managing to do both at the same time puzzled her slightly, because she was beginning to approach the panting, heated mess stage of her full on run up to coming; the main power of her thought was now focused on just getting it just right. It wasn’t gonna be a grand royale, but it was gonna be plenty satisfying. It only fuelled her power to hear him groaning, deep in his throat, and stroking his cock more and more vigorously.

She was crashing headlong towards it now, rubbing furiously, grinding against him to get the deeper buzz, feeling his hand right against her from behind—when he opened his mouth around her breast and didn’t return, only panting harshly, she didn’t even complain because she was so close, so close—

At the last minute, she lost it a bit. Something had flickered through her consciousness, just for a second; she could have sworn that she’d smelled Killgrave right in the room. A brief bolt of panic went right down from head to toe and her fingers faltered. The orgasm still rolled through her, but slightly tainted. Her heart was racing for other reasons as well as her climax.

Intensely frustrated with herself, she recited her list of street names in her head and lifted off and away from Luke. She rolled to rest on her back, skin against the bare cold floor, just as he swore and came himself, breath short and sharp. He turned to look at her. “Right at the end?” he asked. She nodded, her mouth set in a firmly unhappy line. “Did you still come?”

Jessica sighed. There was a big mess roiling around inside her, curling into her stomach like a leaden ball. Her mouth was sealed shut with all the things she could have said. _Yes_ , after all, _yes, but I think that’s kinda the problem, because—_ because earth-shattering orgasm was all bound up in a pretty little bow with Killgrave, who could have her on the edge in seconds, who could just command it with a choice few words, and there was a shame and disgust going right to the deepest depths of coming regardless of how none of it was her fault, because pain was all very well but feeling pleasure, having that forever associated with him, was infinitely more terrible, and of course meant that he thought she really did like it all along, and her body carried this, long afterwards—

She didn’t say any of it. Luke waited, turning briefly aside to wipe up his cum then lay still, his breath slowing and sweat cooling. “Wasn’t as bad as I was expecting,” she muttered, hoping he’d understand. She didn’t want him to treat her like she was made of glass.

“You felt kinda awkward?”

After a moment, she said, “Yeah.” Flatly. Trying to tamp down any air of embarrassment. She was a grown woman, for fuck’s sake.

“Seems natural to me. Or, I guess, whatever’s natural after all that shit.” If there had been any hint of pity in his voice, she might have slugged him. Instead, he just seemed thoughtful. “I mean, getting used to life through a bottle, Jessica, I’ve seen it all in the bar. Not many people even want to swim back out. I get it.” He paused. “Not all of it, ‘cause I haven’t lived it. But I swear, I get it.” He smiled at her, so warm, so giving, and some of the sickness in her belly trailed away. “It was never gonna go perfect first time. Didn’t expect it to.” She frowned, hearing it like that. Had she expected it to all go right the first time? In amongst those nerves she hadn’t really been prepared for it not to go right. Unspoken, there had been a terrible and disproportionate fear of doing something embarrassing like farting or queefing that brought her down from the rough and tumble woman she wanted people to see her as. If that had happened, she might have just about expired from the humiliation. When she was drunk, it didn’t matter; she had the confidence of the deeply inebriated.

But this was Luke. They’d been through so much worse together. For fuck’s sake, she’d killed his wife. They’d both been manipulated by Killgrave. They’d shared, trusted, fought together. That one time, against each other... In comparison to that, how could she be so embarrassed by ridiculous things?

Life without the bottle stood out as sharp angles and edges that she was forever walking right into. Bumps and bruises were all over her mind. Right now, she needed a drink.

“Let’s go another round tomorrow,” she said. Maybe she could go even longer between the glasses then. And the day after. It wasn’t going to get easier, but she was sure as hell determined.

**Author's Note:**

> by far the best part of writing this was when i looked in Word synonyms for "jerked" and Word offered me "kangarooed". okay Word. sure. he kangarooed his dick.
> 
> i'm a brit so soz if there's any confusion re: pants and trousers. i used "ass" tho, because i feel like a lot of non-brits find "arse" just kinda funny. the struggle between writing fully accurate sex where farting and weird armpit noises are run of the mill, and Super Hollywood Sex where your body never betrays you in heinously embarrassing ways, it was fairly constant. went for a mix of the two. (one of these days i'm gonna write a funny sex scene bc i never see them so i'm gonna have to fill my own demands. lbr anything involving human bodies also involves a considerable amount of silliness, bc they are just inherently silly and make odd squeaky noises when you're trying to be sensual. but no, you never see anyone accidentally hitting their partner in the dick or nutting them on the nose in telly.)
> 
> title is from Gil Scott Heron's Me and the Devil.


End file.
